Broken
by BabyTigerEyes
Summary: She's young,beautiful and well-known,and it's assumed she'll always be there.But what if she had an awful secret that singled her out?What would happen if something went wrong?This is what happens and this is her story.
1. Shattered Dreams Broken Glass

A/N: This is a completely, un-drafted random story with no preparation. I just got the concept and you'll just have to go easy on me for it and I do not own O.C. characters bla di bla di bla and crap...why do we have to always say that? Who would actually say "Oh yeah, I own the story of Lord of the Rings, The O.C, Spiderman and Cruel Intentions or whatever." so why do we ALWAYS HAVE TO SAY THAT?! Sorry...I'm in a bad mood because I don't know where this story's going and I know FanFiction vultures will probably rip this apart! : )

She felt the eyes bore into the back of her neck, even when he wasn't there.She heard the sounds. He was drunk…again. She wouldn't make a sound or he'd find her. It was a game of hide and seek, but she couldn't be found. If she was found, she would die. She felt the breath catch in her throat as he rampaged through the house, screaming with fury, bellowing her name over and over.

_If Mum didn't leave_, she felt tears stinging her eyes, _this would never have happened._

She couldn't tell anyone. It never happened. She shut her eyes and blinked away a tear of dread welling in her eyes.

She could call for help, but no one would hear her. Only him – and she didn't want to be found. She waited for him to pass it, usually onto a table. She'd know it was safe once she heard the reassuring thud. She waited with baited breath, hyperventilating in shallow gasps. She heard him enter her room, but he didn't come to her spot. He strode past her hiding place, but she pulled a big jacket around herself as a security blanket. Sheheard him bellow as he pulled back her blankets and discovered she wasn't there.

"WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LITTLE BITCH?!" he screamed.

_Please, let the phone ring, let someone knock at the door, please let someone save me, _she repeated this mantra over and over in her mind, but the phone didn't ring, there was no one at the door and she was all alone with this monster. She heard his feet stumble down the stairs and the clink of the booze cabinet opening. She shut her eyes and shoved her shoes to one side as sheimagined what he was doing now. She saw him, stumbling into the lounge room where the liquor cabinet stood, him muttering incoherent words,him picking up the vodka and swigging it like it's the milk carton in the mornings. Then she braced herself for what she knew was about to happen when she heard a low, guttural moan. Then she heard the crash of the glass table as he fell through it. It was her chance. She quietly opened my wardrobe door and slipped out silently. She picked up her bag that she had stowed away under her bed and fumbled with her mobile phone. She was terrified that it would ring when it was under the bed. If it rang, he would know she was close by and he'd gut her like a fish. _11:47 pm,_glared up at her and she winced at the brightness of the light.

She looked at her tiny bag of clothes and scuttled down the stairs like he was behind her. She gritted her teeth when she realised she would have to sneak right through the booze room. She breathed quietly, and attempted to psych herself up.

"Okay, I can do this." She muttered, "I can."

Not even she believed herself.

She poked her head through the door. He was sprawled out on the floor, hanging through the broken glass table. The floor shined like diamonds, with beads of glass all over the floor, not just under the mangled corpse of a once-beautiful table. She frowned – she hadn't worn anything on her feet…there wasn't enough time to get anything when he slammed open the front door. She decied to bite the bullet and just do it. She had to walk over broken glass to get away - literally.

_Don't think,_ she coaxed herself, _don't think about it._

She gingerly stepped onto the expensive carpet. She winced as the glass shredded the bottoms of her feet. Once she got through the room, she hesitated. Then she stopped completely to inspect the bottoms of her feet. They were shredded, with fragments of glass embedded in them. Dots of blood stained her heels and the balls of her feet. She hobbled eventually down the streets of the town, avoiding the main roads as much as possible. Eventually she reached her destination -the front door of her best friend's house – she'd help her, even if it was midnight.

She thumped the door with a weak palm and the door opened almost instantly.

"Oh my God, Summer." Said Marissa Copper as she realized who was on her doorstep. She was dressed in a green shirt and jeans, so she took some comfort in the fact she hadn't woken her best friend.

"Please, help me, Coop." Summer Roberts winced, and then the events of the traumatic night overtook her and she fainted right away into her lifelong friend's arms, completely oblivious to how close she had brushed with death.


	2. At Her Refuge

A/N: Thanks for all your really sweet reviews! I'm trying to figure out where to go from here – hope you like it!

"What happened, Sum?" Marissa asked, forgetting that Summer hated that nickname. It was what her father once called her, in a time long long ago, when he was actually sober. She felt a cold feeling run up her spine as she thought of him. Her father. Her hero. Her tormentor.

"He-He-" She buried her face in the soft cushion Marissa had given her and felt her jeans tightening around her legs as she crossed them. They were tight, and not made for sitting that way, but Marissa didn't care. She mimicked Summer, crossing her long legs and squeezing a big bear. Her face was full of concern as she sat opposite her on the new double bed. She'd somehow successfully brought her passed out best friend up to her room without her Dad or Hayley hearing, and she managed to revive her with something she'd learnt in first aid. But for someone so weak, and gentle, she had a lot of difficulty dragging the body up the stairs, which was really all she could do to get her up into her room. She was relieved when Summer came to and said she didn't feel a bruise from the trip upwards.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she saw a tear trickle down Summer's face, like a little fairy footpath, and sink into the cushion. A dark ring of moisture formed around where the tear had fallen. Where so many tears had fallen before, and how many would probably fall again.

"No…I just want to go to sleep." She crawled under the blankets and rested her head against her pillow. The cushion she was squeezing so forcefully a second ago lay deserted on the floor.

Marissa gave up and turned out the lights. Her bed was big enough to hold the two of them, so she crawled under the blankets too and tried to go to sleep. Eventually her breathing slowed, and she fell into passive dreams of technicolour and frivolities.

But even in her subconscious, her fears for Summer lurked in the corners, darting out of sight, but unfortunately, not out of mind. She didn't even know who Summer was ever talking about – it was her private life, and she never wanted to share it with Marissa. She just found refuge with her when it got too much to be around whoever it was. This mystery person remained He, and all she knew was that he was tormenting Summer, in both her reality and in her dreams. She fell asleep, but half of her remained awake, listening to Summer toss and turn in her sleep, whimpering every so often.

In the morning, she would have to sneak out undetected so he wouldn't know in the future where she went every time.

Summer rolled over again and again, trying to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, horrible creatures would laugh and scream and lunge at her, and she would flick open her eyes again in shock. Then she'd coax herself into shutting her eyes again, but she wouldn't see the creatures - she'd see his face. This continued all night. She gently stroked a cut on her stomach and felt her breathing become more ragged. Her feet felt awful, and stung from a soothing cream that Marissa put on the bottom. She eventually felt herself nod off, into a world where he had, instead of passing out and allowing her to escape, he'd found her and she was punished for all she had done to him.

A/N: Hey, that wasn't too hard. Gotta keep it slow cause I don't know where it's going…mysterious, eh? Well, we did establish one point – the man is indeed her father. Keep ready for the next chapter!


	3. Waking Up To Hell

Summer woke up early, feeling her skin being warmed by the early morning light streaming through the window. She rolled over to drink from a glass of water Marissa had put by her bed the night before and closed her eyes, sitting up. She was thinking hard. She looked around her at the chaos of the room. A loud stereo system was rigged up right next to her make-shift bed of a few blankets, cushions and sheets. She had not slept much that night.

Marissa had obviously stumbled into bed completely drunk, sometime around three in the morning. Summer heard her knock over her bedside table. She lay in bed, fully clothed, her hand still clutching a bottle of vodka. Summer shuddered.

_He started out like that, too,_ she thought, _I have to get away._

She felt paranoid fears scraping at her brain so hard it hurt. She clutched her hairline to smother her pain, but it only brought more. She felt like she was dying, and when she pulled her hands away, they were soaked in blood. She screamed silently, her breath barely coming out enough to help her breathe in the stale air of the suddenly musty room.

"I'm going mad." She spluttered to herself, "I'm – going-"

She quickly grabbed her small bag, grinning madly at the fact she hadn't brushed her perfect teeth before going to bed last night. She was too busy trying to fend for her life to think about it.

She slipped out unnoticed, pulling her light jacket around her. It didn't matter. Julie was on holiday somewhere. Who knows where? Probably booty-calling her way around Europe. And Caleb? Most likely trying his hardest to get along with Marissa. But it wasn't going to happen. Because Marissa Cooper is a bitch.

"Oh my God I'm going mad." Summer panted to herself, "She's my best friend."

But the wicked little voice in her head didn't stop taunting her until she arrived outside her house.

_You'd better hope he's feeling merciful,_ the impious voice whispered as she stumbled up the driveway in blind terror.

**A/N: Sorry I'm taking so long to get to the point…I don't know how to finish it, because I promise you that the big confrontational scene is the next thing I'm posting! I promise!**


	4. Dead Girl Walking

He wasn't feeling merciful.

"Where were you last night, Sum?" her father sneered, slamming his scotch onto the bar table. She stepped back, feeling a coldness creeping up her legs, her spine. She felt rooted to the ground, but she knew she could run. She could run, and hide, just get out of the house. But he'd kill her. That's what he told her, and everyone knew he was a man that lived up to his word.

"I was, I was-" Summer was lost for words.

"I'll tell you what you _was_," her father snapped, waving his hands dramatically, his face dotted with dark stubble and walking the unsteady walk of a man far above the alcohol limit, "You _was_ out telling people weren't you?"

"No, daddy, I'd never do that." Summer choked.

"Don't lie to me, Sum!" he snapped, "You told!"

"No, I swear! I didn't tell-" she cried. His hand shot out and grabbed her hair and she began to whimper like a dog that has been hit by a car.

"You little liar, you bitch!" he growled, "You're going to pay!"

"No Dad I didn't!" she howled at the roof as her father yanked her by the hair. He dragged her outside, pushing her against walls and furniture, cutting and bruising her everywhere.

"Shut up! You lie!" he said, slapping her across the face. She felt tears sting her eyes, but tried to hide it. He would prey on her weakness, as he was now. She could feel the hunger in his spirit-drenched breath. He wanted her to fall over so he could kick her upwards again. She knew. She'd spent years figuring out what he wanted from her.  
She stumbled, but refused to fall. Then she realized where he was taking her. It was the one part of the big house she really hated.

"Daddy, please?" she begged, all tactics lost, "Don't take me there!"

"You will pay for what you've done!" he snapped, shoving her around the side of the house.

She could have screamed. Tried to get help. But no one would help her. No one could ever hear her. She'd already tried before, and suffered for it.

He kicked open the cellar door. There was no alcohol down there anymore though. He had drunk it all, and then took great pleasure in throwing the bottles in. He loved the shatter of the glass. He loved the way Summer screamed and screamed in there, the little jagged pieces of glass maiming her beautiful skin. The delightful glow of the perfect beads of blood caressing her frail body. He loved her agony. Then he'd take her out and make her suffer more.

He began ripping off her clothes so she had nothing to protect her from the cold, hard glass. All the while she whimpered and begged, hoping against hope that he'd change his unreasonable mind and spare her the pain. But he never did. He threw her down there and laughed as she cried.

For most of her life, this sick, disturbed man had tortured his "little princess" and for most of her life Summer Roberts told no one.

And some things in life never change.


	5. Notch Number SeventySix

**A/N: I feel so bad making Summer suffer through this; it's definitely something I hope never happens on the show. **

He finally let her out. Even though he always did, he spent so long laughing at the way her beautiful hair became matted with blood, and her bitter tears stung the cuts on her small, weak body, that she would think to herself, _he's not ever going to let me out. He's going to kill me and tell everyone I ran away,_ but he never killed her. Not yet. Because that was all that she wanted now, and he knew that.

She stroked the raised slashes on her arms and reminisced. Not all the cuts on her body were because of him. With so many scars, it was hard to tell which were inflicted and which were self-made. But Summer had become an expert. She knew exactly which scars where her own handiwork, and which were her father's. She was so proud of hers. They meant things to her, cancelled out the other ones she never wanted. Which one had come first, him hurting her or her hurting herself? Not even Summer could remember, it had gone on for so long.

"I'm so alone." She sighed, crawling into bed, and pulling the vegetable knife from under her mattress, where she always put it. She looked at her beautiful legs. Up so high that you couldn't see it, even in the smallest bikini, she found the part of leg she always cut, and carved another notch into her tally, as carefully as she could, ignoring the dim green numbers on her alarm clock. Eighty-nine days had gone by this year, and Summer had seventy-six notches marked. Most had faded in as the days went by, but in her mind they were as much of a bright, glowing red as the days she had cut them.

She knew it was sick. She knew it was wrong. She couldn't help it.

Above her "blood-record" she had scratched in four letters. Just four letters. All she needed to remind her that her life was only going to get worse. She decided to go over the letters, to remind her that they would never fade in her heart.

S…she scratched over the faded scar.

E…she continued, digging deeper.

T…she dug the knife in as hard as possible, bringing a muffled whimper from her lips.

H…she couldn't resist wiping off a small smear of blood and tasting it.

"Essence of pain," she muttered sadistically, pretending to be a witch.

But there was no pretending involved. She was slowly fading away, and Seth had left Orange County and left her all alone to fend for herself.

"He's run off with the gypsy blues," she sighed, "And little bitsy Summer has nowhere left to hide."

She crawled into bed and then suddenly heard a clinking sound, loudly. She felt her bloodstreams turn to ice as she realized her father was coming up the stairs.

"Oh no…" she breathed, terrified. If he came in here, she'd suffer more. She always did.

"Sum? It's me, a-creeping in the night." She heard him taunting her in a singsong voice, his ragged melody dancing under her door and making her body go cold.

She waited. Suddenly he went silent, but she knew it wasn't safe. Any minute now, she'd relax, let down her guard, and he'd pounce. The door would fly open and she would suffer further. It was a sick game she couldn't win.

Suddenly she heard a thump, and a string of incessant swearwords.

The door was locked.

"Just you wait." She heard him mutter dangerously.

Then she heard his uneven steps stomp down the stairs, agitated he wouldn't be raping his daughter that night. It didn't matter. He already had today, once he pulled her out of the cellar. Notch number seventy-six.


End file.
